Skinny Love
by effies-scrapbook
Summary: There was a bang at the door, and she stood there, transfixed. It all boiled down to a final, earth-shattering realization of what exactly was going on.


**Skinny Love**

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><p><em>A series of connected Effie-centric vignettes, telling the tale of a romance between Seneca Crane and Effie Trinket tainted by the prospects and consequences of war, starting from pre-Hunger Games and ending at the start of the Quell during Catching Fire. Could be bordering on AU. Warnings for character!death, miscarriage, beatings and mild Haymitch language. Read at your own risk.<em>

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><p><strong>THE BEGINNINGS — "catch me 'cause i'm already falling"<strong>

In his hearts of hearts, Seneca Crane loved Effie Trinket. He never admitted it, but he knew, and she knew, and both of them had always thought that words often fell short of emotion. So those three words never came out often, and if they did, well, it was replied with the appropriate response and brushed off as if it were part of conversation. That's how they worked. Their love was starving for attention, but he thought that the affection was warranted for other places.

Irreplaceable wealth _(he loved how she brightened at the sight of the diamond ring, the middle engraved with the infinity sign; "That's how long I'll be with you, Ef")_, lost smiles and addictive laughter _(he'd bought a puppy for her, who peed on him the first day, but the smiles and laughs Sparky brought out of Effie made everything worth the urine and bites)_, and above everything, the pure feeling of being in love _(one day, he had taken her and Sparky to the beach, and on the lone tree swaying seaward, he scratched their initials like young lovers; Sparky, before they left for home, peed on the tree to make sure of the property_): these were all things he quite enjoyed about her and how she made him feel.

He was happy, and she was happy, so everything went swell. The Head Gamemaker and the District 12 Escort; that, ladies and gentlemen, was the new love story going three years strong.

* * *

><p><strong>THE GAMES — "that's the sound you're waiting for"<strong>

"Do you think this year might be the year?"

She was exhausted after a full day with Haymitch and Katniss and Peeta. Seneca had to pull her out of her sleep-deprived state of work in order to get her to bed. It wasn't easy being with her, but then again, no one said it was going to be hard. He circled his thumb over the creamy surface of her arm, her silky skin just waiting for him to ravage. He knew she was tired, tired of everything to be honest. But this was her job, and every year it got harder and easier all at the same time.

"Maybe love," he whispered, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "Maybe this year. They look promising, especially that Katniss."

"Yeah..." she trailed off, yawning pitifully and she nuzzled her head into the crook of his arm. **"I'd be really sad if they die. Both of them. **I want them to be alive. I like them."

"Only one comes out, you know that," he said dismissively.

"Well, Mr. Gamekeeper, maybe this year will be the year where everything changes. All I'm saying that they really shake things up," she said, "But my sleepy horoscopes _never_come true, Seneca, you know that. Goodnight, dear."

"Night."

The lights went off and the room took the darkness well, as he did not see a thing. His mind wasn't asleep, because between her even breathing and the creaking windows, his thoughts rambled and rambled until he said to himself, _"You're right, Effie."_

Right of what, he wasn't sure.

* * *

><p><strong>LOVING YOU — "my heart, you rose to claim it"<strong>

Effie was a proper woman and did not hook up in strange offices, ever, end of conversation. She was raised to abstain from intimacy in public, because, as her dad put it, some things are meant for the bedroom.

But she could let this one slip. After all, what is privacy when the government watches your every move?

He slammed her into the wall, her leg wrapped around his waist, his lips devouring hers as they fumbled to undress. She laughed, "Your boss would murder you twiceif he knew you were blowing off your job for your girlfriend."

He exhaled, flinging her pants away. He smiled against her coy grin, saying a quick, _"All's good in secrecy."_

And then the door burst open. In came a secretive Haymitch and Plutarch, talking in low whispers, but obviously both men hadn't expected a half-naked Effie and shirtless Seneca propped against the wall.

"Ho-ly shiiiiiit," Haymitch remarked; laughing, he crossed his arms and continued to stare, particularly at Effie, who was hiding behind an embarrassed Seneca. He punched Plutarch's arm, guffawing a rather obnoxious, "Ohmygod, Effie, I ... what—"

"I'm so sorry; Abernathy, let's go," Plutarch muttered under his breath, taking Haymitch by the collar and dragging him out of the room.

The walls proved thin, because even after the man shut the door, they could hear an amused Haymitch raving about the recent development _("Those tits, Heavensbee, those tits!" and "Seneca, the lucky bastard"_). Effie laughed out loud, covering her mouth, and leaned against the gamemaker for support. Despite the humiliation, she was pleased by their reaction. Call her vain, but it felt great to hear the compliments, in spite of their intent and tone.

"Did you hear that Seneca?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck, "You're one lucky bastard." She giggled as she pecked his lips. "And apparently, my breasts are something to be proud of!"

"Mmm, but you're all mine, love," he whispered. He gazed at her, a smile wrapping around her lips and she asked the innocent,_ 'what?'_ she always asked when he studied her. He wanted her to be his. So bad that thinking otherwise made his heart wrench and that he physically felt the hurting in him. She was lovely, and she was the one that he wanted. He found no shame in his lack of verbal affection, because they're just words. Words, he found, that suited the situation perfectly, and do he leaned in teasingly to say, **"I love you."**

"I know," she said. "I love you too."

"Marry me, Effie," he blurted out, blushing at the sudden proposal.

As he stared at her, he found her eyes to be smiling too, and he knew everything was right. He had said the right things. "Okay," she shrugged. "I'll marry you."

"Is that all I get? An okay? I feel the love..."

"No, that's not all you get. You get me too, you silly man, and I do love you," she corrected. "But why say things we already know?"

She kissed him, and he was content with it all. As long as he could feel her by his side, he was fine. He was happy. That's all he needed.

* * *

><p><strong>THE WORRYING GAME — "lie with me and just forget the world"<strong>

"You were quite brave in doing that, Seneca," Effie commented casually, letting her body sink in the leather couch. She sighed out of content, smiling. She lifted her eyes to meet his, but her elation deflated once she realized that her joy did not match his. She reached for the opened pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, shrugging off his pacing and lack of words. "I'm glad they won, they deserve it. **They deserve to be in love, too**."

She clicked the lighter and brought the smoke to her lips, drawing in one puff before expelling the grey in patterns. "I've been busy, Seneca, you know, we both were. _Are_. Between dealing with those brutes of sponsors and planning our wedding, I've had no time to breathe. And now it's all over. I've missed you, by the way."

She knew her complaints and advances fell upon deaf ears, but she could try. She closed her eyes, then put out her cigarette, both regretting and feeling relieved that she did so. She flicked the butt into the ashtray, then pat the empty spot next to her. Seneca only blindly obliged, because she could see him pacing, still, in his mind. His elbows met his knees, and his chin rested on his folded hands.

"How was your day?" she asked, a pathetic attempt at conversation.

He grunted in reply, one that she couldn't decipher. It was the kind of grunt that either meant,_ "Alright_," or_"Terrible,"_and it fazed her. Disgruntled, she huffed. Loudly. Still, he took no notice.

"I miss being at home," she remarked, her lips forming around her inner thoughts. She glanced at him, but it only took one look at her fiancé to make her groan in disapproval. She looked aside, lifting her legs to fall on top of each other, her petite body now taking up half of the couch. Still, no reaction.

After a good minute, he put his hand on her leg, and said, "You are home." His eyes and mind were obviously focused on something else. While she should appreciate his attempt, it did nothing to assure her.

"No," she said slowly, "I'm at our flat. You're my home. What's been bothering you? Why haven't you so much said a word to me for the past week?"

This pulled him out of his trance; he looked at her, then his hands started to rub her legs for comfort, but he said nothing. Effie felt tears welling up in her eyes, running her fingers through her blond hair, removing the scrunchie that held her hair in a messy bun. She leaned against her hand, her elbow propped on the couch arm. She exhaled, her voice shaky and hesitant, but no matter how softly she said them, the words packed a punch. "My period's late, and I took a test.** I'm pregnant, Seneca."**

She wished he smiled instead of creasing his lips into a thin line. She wished he'd lighten up instead of dive back into darkness. She laughed spitefully, wiping her tears away. "You know, I wanted to tell you a couple days ago. But you were brooding with your damn head in a book or, or glaring as if you hate the world. I don't know what's going on with you." She drew her legs away from him, continuing, "I don't think you know exactly how scared I am, that you're going to leave me and the baby and, and...and I don't know how to convince myself that you're staying, Seneca. And that scares the hell out of me." She shrugged off the weight on her shoulder, because frankly, she couldn't take it. She didn't want the pressure. "_Where have you been_, Seneca?" she whispered, her voice ragged and rough from underlying emotion.

She tried to keep her voice steady and even, but he knew that she was holding in reckless sobs. He said nothing again, but both knew words did nothing but bad, so he climbed in the space between her and the pillows. He circled his arms around her middle, anchoring her back home. He brushed his lips against the soft spot under her ear; at this, she softened, relaxed, and her breathing eased as he said wonders to her.

"I'm here, Effie, for you and for her," he said. "Always and forever."

"Her?" she asked.

"Our daughter," he confirmed. He laughed deeply, tightening his hold around her abdomen. Her heart soared again, comforted by his words and his hold. She assimilated to his curve, and before she fell asleep, she could've sworn he said, "You'll never know how much I love the both of you."

* * *

><p><strong>RIDDANCE — "better run, better run, faster than my bullet"<strong>

A few weeks later, and she suspected nothing. It had seemed as if he had bounced back to normality, as if all worries had washed away. She was glad. That way she didn't have to worry either.

On a Tuesday night, she finished making dinner. Seneca was running late from work, but she didn't mind. Why should she? She trusted him, after all. She smiled, looking at the array of meals in front of her — them. About eight weeks, that's what the doctor said. She hadn't started showing, but she could feel just a slight bulge, and sometimes at night Seneca tells her that he could feel their daughter's heartbeat.

"Don't be silly," she'd laugh, "Her heart has yet to look like a real heart — you wouldn't hear her heart beating anyway."

"But we don't know if she's a she either, so we can't count on that, too." He'd poke fun at how she'd fuss about it all, and she wasn't even mad. All fun and games, they were.

As corny as it sounds, she loved him for letting her be herself and never judging her for anything. She loved him because he never asked anything from her, as if her existence is reason for being. She felt as if she was flying every time they were together. They were the best of friends, and all at the same times, something more than lovers. She never had reason to believe in soul mates, but this man has her rethinking all these things. More than anything, though, she felt at home with him. Like the type of home you'd think of on your deathbed—Grandma's warm cookies, reading by the fire with your grandfather, Daddy teaching you how to ride a bike, mother and daughter talks in the car, your brother poking fun at you then beating up the stupid boy who called you stupid. The type of home you think of when asked for synonyms of safety and security.

She remembered what her brother Alfie told her, right before he moved to One, never to be heard of again,_ "Ef, never let a guy make you feel anything less of safe. The one for you is the one who makes you feel all tingly and secure and warm and happy. Never let anybody tell you, or make you feel, different."_

Seneca Crane was the one, as stupidly schoolgirl that sounds. She was finally working well as an escort, she was getting married, and she was about to have a baby. More than anything, she was happy. That was her goal in life. To be happy.

At around half past six, he came home. She perked her head up, about to say something of a joke, but then she stopped herself. He was flustered, his eyes darting everywhere as he ran inside the flat. Without missing a beat, he turned and slammed the door, locking it three times and pressing himself against it. Panting, he called out for her. "Effie?"

"What, what happened? Are you okay?" She got up quickly, rushing over to him. As soon as she came close, he grasped her tightly, cupping both cheeks in his hands.

With tears in his eyes, he whispered, "Effie, don't be scared, baby, don't be scared, okay?" He leaned in and kissed her forehead, still commanding her to be brave, stay strong. "I love you, I love you so much Effie. Don't ever forget that."

She looked up at him. Confusion cluttered her eyes as she tried to understand, tried to be strong, but she couldn't. She was more scared than anything. That's what worried her; if she was scared of the unknown, what more when he tells her? "What's going on?"

"You're going to be Mrs. Crane, Effie, okay? Please don't worry, please be brave for me." He kissed her as if it were their last, his lips pressed against hers in a tangent, explosive manner. When they broke away, he bent down on his knee and lifted her shirt that concealed her abdomen. In a shaky whisper, he kissed the skin and said, "Be good to your mom, she's going to need you. She's going to love you the way she loved me. With all her heart and with everything she has. I love you."

"Seneca..."

Her eyes searched his for an answer.

"Hide."

There was a bang at the door, and she stood there, transfixed. It all boiled down to a final, earth-shattering realization of what exactly was going on. There was a mass blur, and all she saw were flying colors and rustling shapes, but nothing could mute the screams and curses of the peacekeepers pillaging her home.

When she came to her senses, it was too late to hide. Four, maybe five peacekeepers stood in her flat, two of them holding Seneca by the arms. He knelt down, defeated, his head bowed down to the floor and blood gushing out of the cut on his cheek. He was sobbing, but then again, so was she.

"Seneca?" she wailed. She stepped forward.

On of the peacekeepers slammed the butt of his gun into her stomach, and that's when she felt the stinging, blinding pain of her abdomen cramping up. Blackness, that's all she saw. Dark was not a word that did her vision justice. She struggled to retrieve back her sight, but nothing had clicked. All she felt, as the light came back, was the bashing of the pointed end of the gun into her stomach. They were beating her. Shutting her up. Soon, the torment became relative and she blubbered out apologies and pleads of mercy.

Finally, everything ceased to feel. She stumbled back, cradling her bleeding and bruised stomach in her arms. She gasped, hoping and praying to God that the baby was okay. But the pinching agony told her otherwise.

The same peacekeeper shoved her into the wall, his hands clamped around her neck in restricting squeezes. "Did you tell Seneca to keep your tributes alive?** Did you tell him to declare Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark victors?**!" His chokehold was too much, and she couldn't breathe, much less answer his questions.

"LET HER GO!" Seneca cried, looking up. He tried to jerk away from his captors, but he was bound to them. He couldn't move. "She had nothing to do with it! I was...I was...weak. I refused to kill both of them. I didn't think...the Capitol was being fair."

The peacekeeper strangling Effie narrowed his eyes, then let go. Effie collapsed onto the floor, struggling to breathe as she twitched and arched for oxygen. She shook violently as she greedily inhaled as much as she could; after awhile, she pulled herself up, only to fall face first onto the floor. She sobbed, her body still trembling in the aftermath; it was worse that they laughed at her for her pathetic anxiety.

"Keep her there, Brown, let her watch this poor excuse for a man _die_," the older peacekeeper said as he stepped forward to dig his pistol into the side of Seneca's head. He spat into his face, the rest laughing at the two's almost simultaneous cries of pain and despair.

"No..." Effie choked out. She tried to drag herself to him, but Brown had stomped on her tailbone, causing her body to collide back into the floor with a jerk. As a warning, he shot a bullet into the floor next to her ear, mere centimeters from pulling apart flesh. That shut her up and put her in her place. She sobbed, the ringing resonating in her ears, but the blinding pain didn't stop her from watching Seneca fall over, his blood pooling around him and all the others cackling at their agony —_ "Sadist bastards,"_she whimpered, but she was too weak to move. Her cheek rested on the floor, the blood of both her and his mixing into one red, cataclysmic mess. The four men left with Seneca's body, but one lone women remained to wash the blood off her hands.

After an hour, Effie moved to the corner, knees pressed against her chest. The ringing, nor the quivering, had stopped.

The woman, Pia, one called her, bent down and set a syringe of a bright yellow liquid on the floor next to Effie. Effie lifted her eyes from her crimson stained sweater. The blood was all gone, and everything was as perfect as the next; it was as if Seneca magically disappeared. Without a trace.

**"You killed my fiancé."** Effie blinked, her voice hollow. She smiled, her grasp on sanity slackened. **"You killed my baby."**

Pia nodded, stepping back. "In that syringe...that's tracker-jacker venom. For the memories. If it...helps."

Effie shook her head, unable to process anything beyond her own thoughts. Pia noted this. And carefully, she walked away.

A day passed and Effie sat there, stinking of sweat and blood and tears. But that didn't faze her. She sat there, staring at the venom. It was her savior. Or was it her devil?

What is it, anyway, to a pariah like her? Did it matter?

Effie grabbed the syringe from the floor, and studied it. She gasped, sobbing out loud as she uncapped the needle.

* * *

><p><strong>VICTORY TOUR — "i touch the place where i'd find your face"<strong>

A week or two later was the Victory Tour. Effie spent the tour with quiet depression, because if anything, Seneca's death deserved privacy. She couldn't bear much about it anyway. Any slight remembrance could push her over the edge. Cinna and Portia knew about it, naturally, but they never said anything because it wasn't needed. Mourning was deeply laden in her eyes, and they didn't want any further trouble. Besides, Effie seemed to be managing.

She never knew if Haymitch knew about it or not, and even if he did, he knew better than tell her. She's never cried in his presence, at least, not recently. He didn't really know how to deal with crying women, anyway.

On one of the maintenence stops along the districts, Effie stumbled out of her room and into the blanketed outside. The night outside Five was cooler than usual. But she didn't mind. She didn't care to fumble with coats or any sort of warmth, actually. If she was void of emotion, the least she could do was feel pain. Feel something.

So in the shivering cold, she stood in her slip, free of makeup and wigs and completely natural. She didn't mind. Nor did she care. She stood, facing the east, waiting for Seneca to wrap his arms around her and bring her back home. "Come_ home_," she whispered. She closed her eyes. "I've been waiting..."

"You're going to freeze your ass off, princess."

She didn't have to turn to know that Haymitch was behind her, presumably with a bottle of alcohol or some type of sarcastic comment at the ready.

When she did not respond, he stepped directly next to her. He stood, watching the stars fade eastward, brimming with self-pride and vanity and hope and elation...like Effie, he said to himself. But just one look at her and anyone could say that she wasn't a star anymore. It was hard to believe that she was ever like one.

"He's not coming back. Face the music. He's dead." Those were words that, with a change of subtle pronouns, he told himself to get though the night. Seeing the lack of effect, Haymitch cracked the bottle open and let it slosh down his throat. He offered it to her, but she didn't give any type of response, neither verbal nor physical. It was as if he wasn't there. He shrugged, downing it whole. "You're still young, you know. You could get another him. **There's a hundred of hims out there. There's one of you.**" He took off his jacket and handed it to her. "Here, 'fore you die on me."

She put it on, almost gratefully. But she didn't look at him.

"Look, you're a real beautiful catch who's going to make some man happy one of these days, and don't let Seneca get in the way of you moving on." He glanced at her. "Are you going to talk to me, because if not, I'm just going to head on up. You better, too, because you shouldn't let the kids see you like this, like in some type of robotic trance. 'Cause that will scare the shit out of them."

She turned to him. Haymitch shook his head, giving her a soft smile. "There we go, princess." She held out her hand and gave him something; he grabbed it, weighing it in his hands. "What's this?"

"A pregnancy stick." He noted the vacancy in her words, emotion almost eradicated. Cryptically, like a bitter widow.

He cringed, "Did you piss on this?" He cracked a smile, staring at her for a usual reaction — a slight of her hand, roll of her eyes, maybe a smile — but nothing. She had tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes staring back at the train.

He looked down at the little window that told if a woman was pregnant or not. A plus or a minus. He'd have had many experiences with a woman shoving the stick in his face and asking him to read it and tell her if she was knocked up or not, hoping for a negative. He was sure Effie was wanting the same thing, considering the circumstances.

A minus.

"You're not pregnant," he said. He was expecting a sigh of relief, but no. She cried more instead. "Why are you crying?"

She was holding another one in her free hand, and when she gave it to him, she said, "That was from six weeks ago."

He looked down. A plus.

"So, you must've had a false reading, did you go to a doctor? Maybe it was just something else." He handed the two sticks back to her. "No need for waterworks. It was just a false reading, Effie."

"No," she faltered. _"It was Peacekeepers_."

And then, everything clicked.

She burst into wracking sobs as soon as those words left her mouth.

He embraced her, probably for the first time with sobriety in years. Nonetheless, beyond all his usual sarcasm and hatred, he felt bad for Effie. For the first time, he felt his heart lurch as he thought of what she went through.

More than anything, as he stroked her hair and mumbled apologies that would never replace the loss of a love and a child, he was shocked at how good she still was to the kids. How she was still on their side. How, in her hearts of hearts, she honestly loved Katniss and Peeta. How she could hide everything under a smile and a wig.

"I want him back...I want my happy ending back," she sobbed against his chest. "It's not fair."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

"I love him," she confided in a solitary, clumsy whisper.

"And he loves you."

Haymitch exhaled as the woman sobbed louder and he was afraid that she may never stop. Out of the corner of his eye, as he rocked her back and forth, he saw Peeta waving for him to come back in, because the train was fixed and they have to keep on schedule to District 4.

Effie sobered, but she sniffled still, and when she got back on board, it was as if she didn't walk out to catch her death in nothing but a flimsy nightshirt. As if she just didn't cry her heart out to the man she's always vowed she hated.

Peeta nodded curtly, asking her if she was okay. He asked himself how true pretenses can be. Another question he's saving for another time is to ask if Effie had an off/on switch. But what side of her was off, and what was on?

"Yep, just needed to talk to you mentor for a quick sec! Now, get to sleep! We've got a big, big, big day tomorrow! Good night, Peeta!" her voice was hoarse, but otherwise perky. Her happy tone had convinced the Capitol attendants when they questioned her midnight sobs, to which she brushed the tears for those of grief for Katniss and Peeta (which wasn't a total lie). So why hadn't it worked on Peeta?

_Because he cares and isn't looking for a tip, you dumb blonde,_she chided herself.

Peeta, intrigued but sympathetic, nodded and went back to bed. Effie turned to Haymitch, then. She smiled sadly, and waved before turning to her room to go back to bed. "Good night, Haymitch."

He grunted in reply, because he wasn't sleeping tonight — he never really does — and she knew that. But then, as he sat in the bathtub drinking away his sorrows, he realized that she wasn't either.

The wall between their room was thin, and even if he planned to rest, he wouldn't be able to. Who would be able to ignore the drifting of a tattered happiness?

* * *

><p><strong>THE QUELL AND THEREAFTER — "who would love you?"<strong>

Effie stared at Peeta cautiously. Katniss then piped up her bout of "talent," as she said, "I guess this is a bad time to mention I hung a dummy and painted Seneca Crane's name on it."

Effie looked up from his mention. She narrowed her eyes as she gasped softly, but she was sure no one heard her. Cinna said something, but she didn't catch it. How could she? She was too busy taking this in. Under the table, Portia slipped her hand to touch hers.

"...he somehow ended up at the end of the noose." Katniss looked around the table, and aside from Peeta, everyone seemed to be directing their attention between the tribute and Effie.

"Oh Katniss," Effie whispered in a hush. "How do you even know about that?"

"Is it a secret? President Snow didn't act like it was. In fact, he seemed eager for me to know."

And that was it. Effie left the table with her napkin pressed to face. She muffled her sobs until she reached her room, where there, she slammed the door shut and cried. Because a couple months of holding it in didn't help one bit.

A couple minutes later, he came around to her rescue. It was a routine, really. No one ever noticed, but Haymitch used the phone more often than said. She'd call him when she felt at her weakest, like on the verge of breaking at the britches, and just talk. Talk about Haymitch and his own business, because listening to someone talk was better than talking itself.

"Effie."

"I'm tired, Haymitch. I don't think I can handle everything anymore, I —" she threw the napkin on the floor and swirled around to crash into his arms.

He caught her, he always did, no matter what they said to each other in what tone or what words. He held her as she released. Everything. She complained about Katniss and Peeta — worried, rather — and about her bills. Her dog was dying, and she didn't know what to do because everyone was leaving her and after this Quell, she didn't know how to cope with life anymore — what was the point anyway? She asked how he dealt with it, and what could she do to move on? That, God, she was tired of everyone assuming that she was stupidly optimistic and always happy when she's not. She's not happy.

And when she was done with her inconsistent rambles, half of which were incoherent or to vulgar for written words, he only held her tighter (like how he did when his girl was sad, you know, before she died).

**"I'll be here, Effie, you know,"**he said blankly.

"I know. I...I know, Haymitch," she whimpered. Her lock around his neck tightened as she asked, "Would you...erase your memories if you could?"

He paused for a long time, and this did not go unnoticed by Effie. She started to apologize, breaking away from him and telling him that it wasn't her place to ask, it wasn't polite, but he laughed it off. He said, "No...because they're what make me stronger, I guess, in the end."

The only reply she could come up with was "Oh," but she managed to walk across her room and reach into her purse. In it was an untouched syringe full of yellow liquid. She pulled it out, showed it to him, and said, "They gave this to me after they killed..." she looked away, and even at the smallest mention, she found herself choking up. Shaking this, she said, "I never knew how powerful it could be, on my thoughts, so I never used it. Worth it, or not worth it?"

He stepped closer, pulling the syringe away from her fingers. He threw it out the window without another glance. "Why would it be worth not remembering who you are?"

She stared blankly at him; how could she tell him that she couldn't find a positive answer?

"Pushing me away doesn't help you. I'll always be a train ticket away...you know, I never really liked you. But...you're the only one I could trust, now." He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, smiling at her.

"Do you still hate me?" she asked timidly. Like a child, wanting to please a parent.

"No, sweetheart, I don't."

It didn't give her any closure, him telling her that he'd be there, because there'd be some type of fluke that he wouldn't. Because sometimes, he wouldn't because circumstance gets it the way of things. Like when she was imprisoned, and tortured. He wasn't there.

But it comforted her, because she knew he meant well. And that a lot of people would come and go, but she had Haymitch to fall back upon.

Some people in their lives (she died first, in the end) had conspired that they were in some great love affair, but no, no they weren't. At different points of their lives, they had feelings for each other, but it was never at the same time, and they would've never worked out. Because they wouldn't fall in love. Their hearts were for someone else. It just so happened that they lost their loves at a time where they were just starting out, figuring out their lives. Where they were settling with their happily ever afters, and life decided against it.

So they were still generally unhappy. Unhappy because their losses outweighed their wins. But still. They had each other, and their lost skinny loves.

* * *

><p>AN: Hey all! I'm slowly creeping back into the Fanfiction realm of amazingness. I took a good year or two off to mature my writing and myself... Who am I kidding, I'm 14 lol I'm faaaaaaaaaar from mature. So this, from what I'm guessing, is the product of tumblr-tag-tracking Effie Trinket and THG/reading amazing Hunger Games fics. I'm not too confident about this, as I am a little rusty with the fandom (it's only now I reread it) and my characterizations of Effie and especially Haymitch are usually drastically off. I hope you guys aren't mean! ^_^ I do appreciate ConCrit though, so yeah. I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes, this monster was a bit of a bitch to edit.

And, as most of you probably picked up on, I included a direct quote from Catching Fire, just putting it in Effie's POV. It's not mine, the whole Seneca Crane Dummy bit dialogue. Like when Katniss tells Effie - oh, nevermind, you guys get it. I'm rambling. Point is, anything recognizable is not mine.

The bolded titles in quotes are lyrics beloging to their respective owners. The songs they are from, in order, are as follows:

**Arms**, by Christina Perri; **All Fall Down**, by OneRepublic; **Set Fire To The Rain**, by Adele; **Chasing Cars**, by Snow Patrol; **Pumped Up Kicks**, by Foster the People; **Set Fire To The Third Bar**, by Snow Patrol & Martha Wainwright; **Skinny Love, **by Bon Iver (the cover by Birdy was used for listening purposes)

Please review, it would mean the world. I know it's a bit AU, but it's fanfiction. REVIEW!


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